"I am going myself," Herne said.
"The effendi will die!"
Herne shrugged his shoulders.
"Be it so! I am going!"
"But not alone, effendi." A speculative gleam shone in the Arab's wary eyes. He was the only available guide, and he knew it. The Englishman was mad, of course, but he was willing to humour him—for a consideration.
Herne saw the gleam, and his grim face relaxed.
"Name your price, Hassan!" he said. "If it doesn't suit me—I go alone."
Hassan smiled widely. Certainly the Englishman was mad, but he had a sporting fancy for mad Englishmen, a fancy that kept his pouch well filled. He had not the smallest intention of letting this one out of his sight.
"We will go together, effendi," he said. "The price shall not be named between us until we return in peace. But the effendi will need a disguise. The Wandis have no love for the English."
"Then I will go as your brother," said Herne.